


Good Boy

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, Dominance, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Pet Play, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How strange that he, a man of science, a doctor and mercenary, would allow himself to be brought to heel like a pup. How queer that a proud, strong, spry man of his age, of his station, of his heritage, would allow a slim, smoke-sheathed Frenchman with a silver tongue to make him his pet, kneeling on the floor clad only in a collar, doing his bidding and following his commands.<br/>But that was how it was, wasn’t it? Their relationship had never been exactly sensible, and certainly never normal.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ysmni](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ysmni).



The metal buckle of the collar around his neck had been cold, biting at his warm skin when it was first donned, though with time and wear it warmed right up. The collar was snug but comfortable, a band of soft yet rigid black leather adorning his otherwise nude form. A small tag hung from a d-ring on the front. It was silver and round, and bore the simple engraving of its wearer's class icon: a circle around a cross. Medic licked his lips, letting them fall open in a dumb smile as warm, delicate hands ruffled through his hair and left him. He adjusted his position on his haunches a bit, a small whine escaping him at the loss of contact.

"Stay," Spy commanded in a firm, but familiar tone, turning and striding away from the man seated by the foot of his bed. He approached the full-length mirror he kept in the corner of his quarters and set about undressing. Unhurriedly, he shed his suit, letting the fabric slide slowly from his arms and legs as his eyes flicked to the reflection before him, to Medic behind him watching intently, his lips closing to let out a light whimper.

The sharp lines of Spy's body caught the warm lamp light just so, sending shadows over his pale flesh in all of the places Medic wanted to nose into, inhale his scent and trail his tongue along to taste Spy and make him moan, to please him.

It's all he wanted, really. To please him. To make his master happy. Spy turned to smile at him, stretching one hand down, palm open, fingers twitching slightly in the air. It was a nonverbal cue that he'd taught Medic, to tell him to come without having to call. There were many of these, little gestures and motions that communicated the Frenchman's whims without cause for words. A man of habitual silence and subtlety, such commands were usually more comfortable for him to issue.

Medic obeyed eagerly, crawling across the floor on his hands and knees to come to a rest at Spy's side, leaning the naked flesh of his side against his master's bare leg. He brushed his cheek lovingly against the rogue's thigh, pushing his head into that open hand and delighting in the gentle scratches that rewarded him, blunt nails digging through his thick, dark hair.

How strange that it had come to this, he mused for a moment, taking in the soft texture of Spy's leg against his cheek. Soft, sparse hair tickled his sensitive skin as he nuzzled at him, craning his head for more scratches. How strange that he, a man of science, a doctor and mercenary, would allow himself to be brought to heel like a pup. How queer that a proud, strong, spry man of his age, of his station, of his heritage, would allow a slim, smoke-sheathed Frenchman with a silver tongue to make him his pet, kneeling on the floor clad only in a collar, doing his bidding and following his commands.

But that was how it was, wasn't it? Their relationship had never been exactly sensible, and certainly never normal.

When they'd fallen into step with each other, when smiles and glances were acknowledged and returned, they'd danced around the subject, unsure of how exactly to commence. After all, neither man was known for his openness or ability to trust. Taking on a lover, particularly a teammate, and another man at that, posed certain logistical hurdles to work out. But when they'd come together, locked in passion, lips and hips grinding in equal fervor, hearts beating as one, such particulars seemed far less particular. The two men, creatures as much of image and pride as the other, with spines held straight and heads held high, had discovered that with love comes trust. And with trust, comes power.

The ability to completely destroy another person emotionally, and with the secrets they soon came to know of each other, psychologically and professionally, became a powerful aphrodisiac on its own. Each held power over the other, ephemeral and mighty, though neither ever cared to think of exercising it. Simply, the knowledge alone was enough, a small niggling thought that would arise to tug smiles into smirks in the quiet moments that left minds fluttering and frittering away in drunken, hazy ramblings in the fog of post-coital bliss.

So when it came to the point that kinks and perversions, assorted deviance from the supposed sexual norm, finally came into their conversations, into their late-night mumbling and lurid teasing, it had seemed as no surprise that power, and the exchange and exercise thereof, had been a fascination of both partners.

Spy had been the first to ask, though Medic had been quick to divulge, an ordered list issuing past his lips, as if he'd had it prepared for some time. It was a standard assortment that the rogue had been able to assume readily based on his lover's known predilections. Bondage, light sadism and masochism, come play, large insertions, women's lingerie, all relatively standard. He certainly had a thing for deep throating, both giving and receiving, which Spy had been happy to discover, all too eager to show off his acquired lack of a gag reflex to the excited doctor. But when Medic had gotten to the topic of domination and submission, things had gotten much more interesting.

“Not just to be a toy, but to truly please mein lover, mein dom,” had been how he'd phrased it. “To be so eager and willing to do anything to please him, and obey him, and be rewarded for it.”

“Like a puppy, too excited to make his master happy,” had been Spy's comparison.

He'd tried to keep his expression even, but the fire in his eyes had betrayed him. This was what Spy wanted too. To be owned, controlled, trained and disciplined. To be a pet.

“And to have someone so properly instructed in your whims, to come when you call, to do as you want, the power, it is--”

“Intoxicating,” Spy had breathed, lurching forward to grab his lover by his tie, delighting in the soft whimper it had elicited, the gentle glaze that had rolled across the doctor's eyes as he was immediately cowed, looking up at the Frenchman with eager, trusting eyes. He'd been rendered completely submissive by the sole gesture, and Spy could barely control himself.

He'd taken advantage, that night, coaxing Medic into pleasuring him and being used as a toy, tugging that tie as a leash. The following night, however, the doctor had done the same to him, but more.

Medic had left a present on his lover's pillow. It was a collar, the mate to the one that would become the doctor's own, made of smooth, rigid black leather, with a tag hanging from it bearing an inscription of Spy's class emblem. When the German had come to his room for the night, the rogue was eagerly waiting for him on the bed, collar around his neck, naked and ready. Medic had grinned, very pleased with the sight before him, and promptly yelled at him to get off of the furniture unless he was told he could climb up. The night had been a series of lessons, of teaching Spy what he wanted and how he wanted it. Commands, key words, and of course, behaviour. Medic had demanded what he wanted of Spy, and reminded him of who was the master in their relationship, wrestling him to the ground, then proceeding to establish dominance while his lover whimpered and moaned. When the learning had finished, however, Spy was rewarded. Allowed onto the bed with his long-sated master, he laid across Medic's lap and relished the man's broad, warm hands rubbing circles on his belly, tickling through the line of soft hair that trailed down from his chest to his navel. When he'd had his fill of petting his lover, the German had finally, _finally_ granted him release, slipping a hand around Spy's cock and stroking him until he was a sweaty, sticky mess in his arms. It was then that the collar had come off, that Medic had wrapped himself around his lover and nuzzled into the silver collecting at his temples, pressing gentle kisses there between loopy smiles.

“Thank you,” he'd breathed, holding Spy close.

“I could say the same,” had come the rogue's response.

And so it had progressed. Each had his turn as master; each had his turn as pet. Some nights Medic would lay with Spy at his side, running his hand over the lanky man's sensitive back and reading quietly. Some nights, Spy would give Medic treats, usually beef jerky or candies, when he would retrieve things for him or obey his commands to roll over or perform other tricks. Other nights, however, Medic would coo into Spy's ear how good, how very good of a boy he was, tugging roughly on the leash hooked to the rogue's collar as he rode him, hissing at the feel of his hips rolling back, burying the doctor in deeper as his pet grew more excited.

Other nights were like this one.

Spy's fingers circled beneath Medic's chin, pressing gently to tilt his face up. Smiling down at his loyal companion, he held his erection in his free hand, waving it to Medic. It was Spy's sign of what he wanted, but Medic didn't feel like obeying. Not just yet.

He sniffed at Spy, the musky scent of the man's arousal waking the German's own anatomy in response, but rather than follow every instinct, every desire, and take him happily into his mouth, Medic recoiled, beginning to shuffle away slowly.

Spy grabbed his collar roughly, bringing him to heel. He waved himself to Medic again, but the doctor tilted his face away defiantly.

“Don't do this,” Spy warned. “You know what happens when you disobey.”

Staring up at the Frenchman defiantly, Medic sniffed again, this time almost in dismissal. He was going to keep doing this until he was told exactly what his master wanted.

“Suck, boy,” Spy ordered, bringing his cock to Medic's lips.

His tongue gently poked between his lips, to lick them just as much as to tease gently at Spy's head. The quirked eyebrow of the rogue showed he understood Medic's game.

“What did I say? Suck on me, like a good boy.”

A good boy? He was a good boy? Medic's mouth lolled open, wrapping eagerly around the member before him, tongue running up the underside to the head before pressing insistently against his frenulum and rolling there.

“Ah, that's a good boy.”

The sighs coming from above told him he was doing well, as did the loosening grip on his collar. Sometimes, Medic would fight him if he let go, but not tonight. He was a good boy, his master had said so. And as his tongue laved against Spy's cock, his head bobbing gently as he sucked with all of his skill, that was all he needed.


End file.
